The days are shorter now and I am standing with my toes curled around a precipice that is called Winter and that will always suck me down, drowning, suffocating. There is hope in the promise of falling snow and crisp mornings, but only enough to take the edge off.
What really matters is hope, if you can find it. (Where? How? When?)
I am haunted by a memory: the choking sound of your last breaths, your empty stare as you looked at but through me, my panicked heartbeat and stifled scream as I grabbed your shoulders and shook you, shook you, willing you back to life, and breath.
Still you drifted; slipping away from me three times, finally gasping your last, your face blurred by my tears. Fear. Silence. A grief so deep, a chasm so wide, that I could spend my entire life filling it and it would never be enough.
There is life inside me, now, but I do not feel it and I would have ended it if you were still with me. But somewhere, a small voice whispered, and I listened. I wanted this life to be an extension of you, to have your eyes, and your heart, and your love. And so I could not do it. I thought of you, of your beautiful smile, and I could not choose anything but love, and life, and hope. For you. To remember you. To bring you to life, one more time.